


Another Day

by nbarker1990



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: Nothing important happens in this story. It’s just another day.





	Another Day

**1:06am**

 

“You need to put me to sleep, babe,” she whines into his chest, her nails lightly scoring his skin just near his right nipple. It tickles but he refuses to budge even a little, squinting his eyes shut even tighter.

 

“Song?” Blake finally asks, caving the second her lips start their journey across his clavicle. The neck is next and no fucking way will he be able to keep still then... “Or lecture on the best time of year to grow potatoes?”

 

“Neither,” she says, voice low and husky and all broken up just the way he loves it. In one smooth motion, her leg is slung over his, aligning their bodies perf – “Tire me out…”

 

Choking back a rough laugh, he runs a hand up her leg, his fingers quickly finding her wet and ready for him. “Have I ever told you how much I love when you sleep in the nude?”

 

Everything in moderation. Except love.

 

And sex.

 

* * *

 

 

**5:46am**

 

Moms have a spidey sense for when their kids wake up; he’d realized that within weeks of moving in with Gwen. He’d never thought it was _catching_ , though.   

 

“Blake, Blake, Blake, Blake, Bl - ”

 

Groaning, he tugs Apollo onto his stomach (and for god’s sake, he really needs to start watching his diet again), trapping the boy’s hands together so they stop their incessant beating. One day he’s gonna wake up with red marks all over, and not the good kind.

 

“Blakeeeeee, stopppp…” the three year-old whines, wriggling as he makes himself comfortable. Gwen’s still asleep, curled up on her side facing away from him, and so he shushes Apollo, tells him to try to be quiet so Mommy can sleep. Bless him, he manages to look chagrined for a whole minute before he’s thrusting his new toy soldiers right into Blake’s nose. “Look!”

 

Trying not to smile, he carefully places both little figures on his chest. “How about they go here so I can see ‘em better, buddy.”

 

Five minutes later, the soldiers are sleeping on his nightstand (tissues make good blankets), and Apollo is laying spread-eagled across Blake’s body, his quiet snuffles keeping Blake in a place somewhere between slumber and wakefulness.

 

* * *

 

 

**7:20am**

 

“Zuma, it’s been twenty minutes. What’s the hold-up?” Leaning against the boys’ bathroom door, Blake rubs his eyes, making them even sorer. Idiot. “Kingston’s going to pee all over the floor if you don’t hurry up.”

 

Gwen’s oldest son rolls his eyes, but raps enthusiastically on the door. “I’m not, Zum, but I do need to fix my hair.” His slim fingers wind into the brown locks, and Blake can see him physically recoil when he finds a knot. 

 

“Pancakes are gonna end up cold if both of you aren’t in the kitchen by seven-thirty, your Mom said.”

 

Kingston’s rapping becomes somewhat more urgent, but when his feet gets involved (kick kick kick), Blake finds himself trying to calm the ten year-old down. He’s generally a super well-behaved, quiet kid, but occasionally there are moments when he gets intense and… Well, they’re working on it.

 

Putting a hand on King’s shoulder, he squeezes gently. “How about we eat the pancakes and THEN do the hair, champ?”

 

* * *

 

 

**9:45am**

 

His office in the LA house is still more of a half-furnished spare room than anything else, but they’ve talked it over, and there’s not much point giving it a make-over (and yes, apparently that’s the correct word) until they move house, hopefully in a few months. He’s got a mounted deer head on one wall, and photos of his extended family on the other, so it’s not all bad, even if sometimes he misses the comfort of the den back in Oklahoma where he works.

 

Gwen’s knock on the door comes at the perfect time, just when he’s decided he probably _does_ need to start replying to some e-mails. His salvation in more ways than one. “You wanted me?” he asks, and she seems somewhat taken aback by his eagerness, until she sees the way he’s scowling at his laptop.

 

“Trying to use me as an excuse not to work?”

 

“If I say yes?”

 

“You are so shameless,” says, coming around the desk and sitting on his lap. “I was just wondering whether you wanted to take Apollo to the park. Zelva said she would, but - ”

 

“But I love a good park.” Tilting his head up, he gives her a soft kiss on her lips (a slightly orange-y shade of pink today?) and resists the urge to groan when she grinds down on him. “You’re the worst.”

 

“But you love me.”

 

* * *

 

 

**12:03am**

 

Blake dips a hand into the water, wincing when he realizes how crazy hot it still is. Reaching behind him, he grabs Apollo, tries to stop him from pulling all the towels off the rack. “Hey, bud. Wanna come ‘round here and help me out?”

 

Gwen’s told him that her two older boys were absolute horrors when it came to bathtime but thankfully, Apollo seems to be of a different mould, sometimes insisting on sitting in rapidly cooling bathwater until his fingers resemble the most wrinkled of prunes. 

 

“I wants lunch,” the three-year-old whines, watching the water level rise with an almost comical look of distaste on his face. “Lunch first.”

 

“Your mama said there’s no way you’re coming into the kitchen until we get you cleaned up, ‘pollo. Should’ve listened when I told you that mud doesn’t go on the face, huh?”

 

Eventually, the ducks are lined up along the edge of the tub (the big, blue, broken one needs replacing but he’s pretty sure Apollo will notice and cry, so they’re keeping it for now), and his girlfriend’s son is sitting and creating surf-worthy waves that threaten to splash Blake’s whole chest.

 

Gwen’s humming can be heard from where she’s doing a quick tidy of Apollo’s bedroom, and he lets himself sing along.  

 

* * *

 

 

**1:35pm**

 

She’s curled up on the bed beside him, doodling on some paper while keeping one eye on the television, and maybe it sounds trite, but he genuinely doesn’t remember ever being this content. Of course there have been times when he’s had higher pure happiness levels (seeing his niece on a sonogram, the day of his second wedding, when he kissed Gwen for the first time), but this bone-deep satisfaction with his life? He doesn’t think so.

 

“Hey? Babe?”

 

Gwen gives a soft ‘mmm’ of acknowledgement in response, a go-ahead, and so he leans down to press a quick kiss to her cheek, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I know this is random but - ”

 

“But?”

 

“What age are kids when they stop having naps? I mean, I’m just curious. I know Apollo doesn’t go down as often or as long as he did when we first started dating, but - ”

 

“But you like knowing stuff. It’s cute. Um, it differs, really. Zuma had naps until he was practically going to school for the first time. Cos he was a ball of energy, y’know. Tired himself out.”

 

“Not surprising.”

 

And it isn’t. And that’s one of his favorite things now, that he KNOWS these kids, knows what they like to eat for dinner, knows Kingston’s favorite book and Zuma’s favorite superhero and Apollo’s favorite truck. He knows his family.

 

* * *

 

 

**2:58pm**

 

“I swear, this traffic gets worse every single day.”

 

She’s tapping impatiently on the dashboard, while Blake tries to figure out whether he’s going to be able to overtake the freaking huge van in front of him, and he finds it difficult to hold back a grin at how frustrated she is. The boys will be fine, of course, if they’re a few minutes late, but Apollo’s been pretty antsy all day and Gwen sometimes unconsciously adopts their mood.

 

“Pull me off the ledge, cowboy. Distract me.”

 

“Hands are too busy for that, I’m afraid, sweetheart.”

 

Her laugh is mock-outraged (“stop corrupting my child!”) but she leans over, and squeezes his thigh anyway. A promise for later, he hopes. The cars around them are filled with other parents trying to get in line so their kids can make soccer or basketball practice in time, and there’s a sense of camaraderie about it, funnily enough, knowing everyone’s in the same boat.

 

A horn beeps and he shoots the unknown driver a glare.

 

* * *

 

 

**4:08pm**

 

He peeks over Kingston’s shoulder as he passes him a glass of juice, his brow furrowing when he sees the problems on his homework page. “I swear, there was no way I could’ve done this stuff at his age, Gwen. Probably would’ve expired from the work.”

 

His girlfriend laughs, throwing him the packet of chips her son has been begging for all afternoon. It’s meant to be a treat for when he finishes but god knows, Blake reckons the kid deserves it now.

 

“So I guess if I ever get stuck with math, there’s no point asking for your help?”

 

Blake laughs, ruffles Kingston’s hair. “Yeah, that’s a definite no on that one. I passed, but barely. You boys are dead lucky there was no way you could inherit my brains, or you’d be screwed.”

 

“Worse things in life than that,” Zuma says with a shrug from across the room. “You seem pretty smart to me.”

 

Over the years, people have told him time and time again that he’s confident, and he knows he can even occasionally come across as smug. But when he hears _those_ words from _that_ mouth, yeah, his ego doubles in size.

 

* * *

 

 

**6:27pm**

 

He’s pretty sure there’s an old book which starts something like ‘the best of times, the worst of times,’ and Blake’s left wondering if somehow the author had seen into the future and spied on their mealtimes. Because _Christ_ …

 

“Zuma! Put those down!” Gwen slaps the salt sachets from her son’s hand, shooting Kingston a quick glare when he laughs out loud. “Not helping, King. Also, your brother’s dropped his fork on the floor. Can you pick it up before Betty decides to try and eat it?”

 

Blake keeps eating his steak, liberally spreading sauce over it, and watching the kids like they’re a ping pong match on TV. Eventually Gwen’s glare turns to him, though, and that’s his cue to get involved. It’s been a strange progression, learning how to be a parent by jumping in the deep end with an already established family. Sometimes he’s too much of a friend, sometimes he doesn’t step back when he needs to, and sometimes, well, he feels like a real dad.

 

“Hey, ‘pollo,” he says, pulling the boy’s chair a little closer to his own. “You gonna eat your veggies, or am I gonna have to steal them and eat them myself? Cos they look real good - ”

 

“MINE,” the three-year-old insists, shoving Blake’s much larger hand away. “Eat your own.”

 

“But I’m finished. And I’m soooo hungry.”

 

Apollo’s plate is clean (well, relatively speaking) within seconds.

 

* * *

 

 

**8:02pm**

 

He finds Kingston in his bedroom, frowning moodily at the guitar in his hands as he strums his way through a tune Blake doesn’t quite recognize. Whenever they’re with Gavin, they have ‘lessons’ but in the last few months, they’ve only been able to spend a couple of weekends with their dad, and he knows King’s been frustrated about it. Apollo doesn’t miss it, because this sort of balance is all he remembers having experienced, but the two older boys… He knows it’s sometimes hard.

 

When the boy sighs heavily, Blake sits down on the edge of the bed, grimacing at the way the mattress depresses under his weight. Kingston grins at him, puts the guitar in his lap. “Play me something?”

 

“Not gonna be as cool as that song probably was.”

 

“Music’s music,” he says with a shrug, and Blake’s once again struck by how grown-up Gwen’s oldest son is. “Something from the album you’ve been recording?”

 

“Sure. You wanna learn as I go, or?”

 

Kingston nods, watches intently for every chord change, and hums along to the melody as Blake sings. At the end, when the notes fade away, he gives the guitar back with an affectionate pat. “That WAS cool, Blake, super cool.”

 

His heart skips a beat.

 

* * *

 

 

**9:00pm**

“No more excuses, Zum. You were hard enough to get out of bed this morning, you know that. Sleep’s important.”

 

“Well, why don’t YOU go to bed then,” Zuma retorts with a scowl. At Blake’s raised eyebrow, he mutters a half-hearted apology before burrowing down under the comforter. “Seriously, I’m not even tired, and I can hear Kingston playing Mario still.”

 

“There’s plenty of time to whoop his ass tomorrow. You’ll be fine. C’mon, I don’t want to have to get your Mom over here.”

 

Sighing, Zuma turns over, and waves his hand in acquiesce. “Fine, fine. Turn the light out then.”

 

“Sweet dreams, bud.”

 

“Love you.”

 

“Love you, too.”

 

After he’s closed the door, he checks in on Apollo quickly before joining Gwen in their own bedroom, curling up at her side, head on her breast like the poor sap he is. She’s changed into her pajamas, a pair of tiny boy-shorts and a tank that he’s pretty sure rides up every four or five seconds purely to torture him. So much damned skin everywhere.

 

So he touches.

 

* * *

 

 

**9:47pm**

 

“You did lock the door, right?” she asks, her breath still coming in gasps as she looks up at him, wide-eyed and swollen-lipped. “Please tell me you did.”

 

He avoids her gaze, presses soft apologetic kisses to her bare shoulder instead.

 

“Guess it’s a bit too late to worry about it now…” she concedes, her hand coming to rest on his outer thigh. She pinches, grinning when he winces. “You deserve it, cowboy. I swear, one day those boys are going to walk right in, and it’ll literally be the most embarrassing thing you’ve gone through, I promise you.”

 

He tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear, drinks in the way her chest rises and falls. “It happen before?” he asks curiously.

 

“With their Dad? Yeah, when Kingston was a toddler, I think it would’ve been. The explanation barely managed to get past a sleepy three-year-old’s scrutiny.” Her eyes dim a little, and he doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to know if she’s remembering what it used to be like with _him_. Instead, he rolls them over to their sides, gathering her in front of him and winding an arm around her slim waist.

 

“Would still be worth it, though,” he whispers.

 

* * *

 

 

**11:35pm**

 

When her breath finally evens out, he carefully reaches around, removing her phone where it fell on the mattress (he swears she was in the middle of replying to Jen when she finally lost her battle with staying awake) and places it on her nightstand. He’s already set his alarm, and honestly, neither of them have even been needing it lately, with all three boys living with them far more often than this time last year. He’s not sure what to think about it really, knowing and remembering his contradictory feelings about being shuttled between his two homes as a teenager.

 

Whenever the boys (or even just King and Zuma) visit with her ex now, there’s a definite sense of loss, and he’d never expected that when he and Gwen first decided to just TRY, dammit, to just take that leap. His girlfriend doesn’t cry as much anymore on the weeks they’re gone, but Gavin’s decided he wants to go skiing with the two older ones over Christmas (and for more than a week, not a couple of days) and he’s pretty sure just the idea of that is breaking Gwen’s heart.

 

She wriggles, her ass rubbing right up against his cock, and he holds back a smile. Even in sleep… “Babe, you gonna - ”

 

Or not in sleep, as the case may be. “I live to serve.”

 

She laughs, an unpretty, loud snort of a laugh, and he loves her all the more for it, for how real she is with him. “You do not, you idiot.”

 

His fingers trail up her inner thigh, play with the slightly frilly edge of her underwear. They're too tired, too old, too asleep, for anything, really, but it's fun to tease her. “For tonight, then.”


End file.
